Cave-In
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: The Lads have to get themselves out of a hole


The kidnappers had left them for dead. They'd been shoved into a cellar hours ago. They were bruised from the brief fall down the stone steps, but nothing broken. Fortunately the pair hadn't been handcuffed, but the cellar offered nothing in the way of tools, picks or files; the small, high window was barred and it was going to stay that way, as it had for decades. In an ante-room they'd found what looked like a coal chute but the door to the outside world was also bolted and rusted over. There was a nasty thought tickling the back of Bodie's brain that the gang didn't need to cuff them or put a gag over their mouths because there was no-one near enough to hear them out here in the wilderness in the dead of night. They'd been left to die of cold, thirst or hunger - whichever came first. Bodie didn't know whether this had occurred to Doyle yet, as he watched his partner pacing the floor in the darkness with increasing frustration, but it would do eventually. He didn't give word to his fears.

After some time they heard a scratching at the door and the sound of a key being turned. They looked up expectantly, moving as one towards the foot of the stairs. Something was tossed down the steps and the door quickly closed and locked once more. The men took less than a second to assess the situation. The item tossed in certainly wasn't a birthday cake. They threw themselves in the coal hole as the room exploded. The dividing wall saved them from most of the blast, but the dust got into their eyes and onto their chests and they spent five minutes or more coughing their lungs up before even beginning to assess their medical conditions.

"Ok Bodie?" Doyle gasped eventually.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

Doyle was already beginning to move cautiously into the main part of the cellar in the hope that the bomb had ripped a hole in the wall for them. The good news was that it had; the bad news was that there was half a ton of debris in front of it as the outside wall had come down. They'd have to dig their way out. They tried clawing away for a while with their bare hands, but it was a hopeless task. Their hands were getting shredded for no real result; their muscles pulled. However, their excavations had revealed a cavity or tunnel of sorts. Doyle thought he could wriggle through to see if it led to the outside world. He stripped off his jacket and jumper and lay down on his back in the rubble, wriggling backwards. Soon his head and shoulders disappeared - and then the debris shifted. Doyle yelled and slid sideways as something gave way under him. Then everything was still again. In the pitch dark, Doyle daren't move. Bodie heard his friend coughing and retching for air. He frantically tore at the masonry and unearthed Doyle's legs. He began to drag his partner's feet out.

"No," Doyle gasped urgently. "I'm ok. Can you shove me back to where I was? I can't get a purchase on anything, and I don't want to move too much."

Bodie was reluctant. He wanted Doyle out of there in case the rest of the debris came down on top of him, but he also wanted a way out of this hell hole. He'd been casting about while Doyle had been pot holing and couldn't see any other exit. He heard Doyle panting and he fumbled blindly for his partner's body among the rubble. Feeling Doyle's belt, he moved his hands upwards and hesitantly placed his hands on Doyle's side to push him back gently and firmly.

"That's it. Keep me there," Doyle encouraged.

Bodie could feel his friend's ribs under his hands despite a couple of layers of clothing. He could also feel Ray's heart pounding wildly. Doyle flinched when Bodie touched him.

"Not ticklish, are you?" Bodie joked. Now was not the time or the place for horseplay.

"You've got cold hands, sailor!" came a muffled reply.

Doyle wasn't claustrophobic, but it was all a matter of degree. Bodie could say that he wasn't afraid of heights, but if he were to lean against a railing on the 74th floor of a high-rise balcony, he may feel a little uneasy. Doyle was struggling in the darkness. The debris above his head was barely an inch from his face. If the stuff were to move slightly again, he'd be buried alive; suffocate to death. However, he had to try to move the rubble around him, bit by bit and slowly, to force a way out. He tried to still the panic that was waiting in the wings as his imagination went into overdrive - one sudden move; one wrong piece of masonry dislodged, and the whole thing would come down on him like - yeah, like a ton of bricks. Bodie noticed that Doyle's heart rate was still jumping.

"You ok, Ray?" he asked anxiously.

"Stop bloody asking me that!" came the tetchy reply.

Bodie smiled. Yeah, he was ok - for the moment. The fluttering heart gradually slowed to a regular rhythm as Doyle scratched away at their prison walls. There was some grunting and muttering - probably oaths. Bodie was getting tired from holding Doyle's weight. He tried to shift position and nearly upturned them both.

"Will you stop bloody fidgeting!" came an angry retort.

Bodie heard fear there too. He muttered an apology which he wasn't sure Doyle could hear. Eventually Ray said that he could see outside their prison but the bars were still in the way. More grunting then a yell and a lot of swearing. Bodie felt Doyle's heart speed up and his ribs doing the tango. He waited for his partner to announce. But he wasn't going to. He kept going. Bodie risked another rejoinder from Doyle.

"What's up?"

"Just gashed my hand, that's all. Nearly there."

Doyle was still having difficulties coping with such a confined space. He was drawing strength from the physical contact with his partner, the warmth of Bodie's large hands spreading across his torso and the firm, confident grip holding him in place. Then there was a muffled crash.

"Got it," Doyle gasped with glee. "Push."

Bodie pushed.

"Not that way!" Doyle yelled as Bodie tried to stuff him into the wall. "Upwards."

Bodie rolled his eyes, slowly moved his hands down Doyle's body, found his shins and shoved firmly. Doyle wriggled cautiously then made it to the other side. He raised his face to the fine drizzle and laughed. This is what freedom felt like. He waited for his partner, enjoying the wet and the cold and the fresh air. He wanted to shout to the moon till his lungs ached, but managed to contain himself - just. There was much muttering and scrabbling from below.

"Come on, I'm freezing out here. Where's my jacket?"

Bodie came up with an interesting suggestion about what Doyle could do with his jacket, but slid back down for it. Bodie had tried to crawl on his belly to the surface but couldn't move his arms. How Doyle had coped in such a confined space he could only wonder. He turned on his back as Doyle had done, breathed in slowly to tuck his belly in, and tried again. Like Doyle, he couldn't get a purchase and had no-one to shove him from below. His arms were pinioned to his sides. He slid back down again and thought. Doyle was calling encouragement to him - or a generous translation of it! Bodie tried again, raising his arms above his head like a diver before wriggling through the tunnel again. Doyle wanted to squirm back into the hole to get his mate out but had a great reluctance to meet the darkness again. He pushed his arms in and hoped that may help. He eventually felt Bodie's fingertips and shouted more encouragement. Finally, after much grunting, Bodie's hand slid into Doyle's and he was able to drag and heave. Bodie was eventually landed.

"It's easier to deliver a 10 pound baby than drag you out of there," Doyle complained, manipulating his shoulder as though it had been dislocated. "And where's me clothes?"

"I could barely get myself …"

"You should go on a diet, mate."

"Oh, stop moaning." Bodie had got to his feet and shoved his friend playfully in front of him.

They instantly became serious and on high alert as they rounded a corner towards the front of the house. It was in darkness. There was a car on the front drive. The men knew that the gang had had at least two cars with them. After a shoot out there was less of them to start with so they probably only needed the one car to get away - if they had. It didn't take Bodie a moment to jemmy the car door and hot-rod the engine into life. Doyle peered anxiously into the darkness, feeling nakedly unarmed, as Bodie set about his noisy work. No-one came out or took shots at them. They were on their own. Bodie opened the passenger door once he'd got the engine going and Doyle threw himself in. The tyres screeched on the gravel as Bodie took off at high speed. Doyle rummaged in the glove compartment for anything interesting. He slammed it shut in frustration.

"Nothing?" queried Bodie, taking his eyes off the inky blackness for a moment.

"Not a sausage."

"Pity. I'm getting peckish!"

Doyle grinned but said nothing. He was hungry himself. Neither had eaten for some time. After not long, Bodie pulled into a lay-by and switched the engine off. He'd been doing some reviewing. Doyle looked at him quizzically. Bodie switched on the interior light and shifted in his seat towards his partner.

"Hey, my mum told me about guys like you!" Doyle joked, backing away.

Bodie grinned. "How did your mum know about them? Anyway, come on. Let's look at your hand."

"It's only a scratch. Stop fussing and keep going."

Bodie stared. It was clear that he was going nowhere until Ray co-operated. With some reluctance, Doyle revealed his cupped hand. It was swimming in blood. Bodie sucked his teeth.

"If that's a scratch, Ray, I'd hate to see what you think is a gash. Can you move your fingers?"

"Not much," Doyle had to confess.

Bodie got out quickly. The rain was getting worse. Doyle heard the car boot open and close as Bodie looked for a first aid kit. He got back in as quickly.

"No sausages there, either," he said despairingly.

"How much petrol have we got?"

Bodie had noticed the petrol gauge as soon as he'd got onto the road. "We can get as far as Cranbridge."

It was a village about 5 miles away. They both remembered it as a small speck on the map. It was highly unlikely there'd be a hospital there. Less likely, too, of a 24-hour petrol garage. _One thing at a time_, Bodie whispered to himself as he drove steadily onwards.

The village was as small as they suspected. It was definitely a one-horse town. A straight row of houses huddled dejectedly on each side of the road as though mourning its passing. If the pair hadn't been going slowly (to conserve petrol) they'd have sailed through it without noticing. At this early hour of the morning the only lights were from dim street lamps. They hadn't expected anything else. However, Bodie was hoping for a public phone box and was rewarded with one by the pub. Its weak interior light shone like a beacon of hope. Bodie got out quickly as Doyle continued to enjoy the warmth of the car. The kidnappers had only left them with the clothes they stood up in - and they had to be grateful for that at least. Bodie had to go through the operator to get through to HQ. As the agents had been missing for some time after a gun fight, base were getting very worried about them. Their burnt-out car had been found the previous day, but no sign of Cowley's best men. The night operator, Kensit, was delighted to hear from one or other of them. On this one occasion, he wouldn't hesitate to wake up the Cow with the good news. Bodie gave a brief account of their adventures and asked for the nearest hospital. Kensit consulted his map and said that it was about ten miles away, on the other side of the next town. Bodie's heart sank as he told Kensit that they hadn't enough petrol and no money for a cab - on the futile assumption that this village had a 24-hour taxi firm. Kensit had an idea.

"Have you got a blunt instrument, Bodie?"

Bodie thought he'd misheard, or the long night shift was getting to Kensit. "What?"

"Well, if you battered Ray over the head with a blunt instrument, I could call an ambulance out for a real emergency!"

He rolled his eyes and sighed, but Kensit's hare-brained scheme did give Bodie an idea. "Look, I don't care what you tell the ambulance crew - tell them Ray's got Lassa Fever or something - but get them here before we freeze to death."

"Don't worry, Bodie. I'll think of something." Bodie didn't like the sound of glee in Kensit's voice!

Doyle woke from a doze as Bodie got in. "That took some time. Couldn't you get through?"

Bodie suddenly realised that Doyle was going to be very embarrassed and not very pleased at calling the emergency services merely for a cut hand. But he wouldn't be Cowley's best man if he couldn't invent a bit, or cut the verbal corners here and there.

"Told Kensit where we are. After he's finished putting the buntings up, he said he'd get transport for us."

Fortunately Doyle left it at that and settled back to wait. Bodie let out the breath he'd been holding.

Doyle opened his eyes again some time later when flashing lights woke him up. He peered through the rain at the blue lights of an ambulance winking a few yards from the car. He looked enquiringly at his mate. Bodie avoided his eye and jumped out of the car in great haste to meet the driver.

"My friend's cut his hand badly. He's been bleeding heavily for hours and he's starting to drift in and out of consciousness. He keeps murmuring and I can't make sense of him sometimes."

Bodie sounded very anxious and hoped he wasn't piling it on too much - and God knows what Kensit had told them. Doyle wasn't an actor and Bodie hadn't given him a script. He was alarmed when his partner and a medic headed their way and the car door was opened.

"Are you awake now?" Bodie asked as though he were talking to a very deaf and agéd relative.

Doyle knew instantly that Bodie was up to something and he didn't like it. The medic was easing Doyle very carefully out of the car. Bodie slid an arm around his mate's waist. Even a whispered conversation was out as the doctor was too close, supporting him on the other side by the elbow. Doyle was helped gently into the back of the ambulance where another medic was waiting for him. He was placed onto the stretcher where he was bundled up in thick blankets. They were treating him like a very fragile relic - or a dangerous lunatic. The doctor attended to Doyle's hand strapping firmly and painfully while, to Doyle's consternation, his colleague peered into his eyes with a pencil torch and got out the stethoscope, all the while murmuring reassurances. What the hell had Bodie told these people?! Doyle couldn't wait to get Bodie alone for 'a wee chat' where you couldn't hear a man scream!

4

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End file.
